


no one else for you

by itsahockeyplay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Communication, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 16:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahockeyplay/pseuds/itsahockeyplay
Summary: They've been talking for ages, and she's been getting bolder as time goes on. She places a hand on Geno's forearm, smiling, and Geno throws his head back, laughing, replying with something in kind. Sid wants to bolt out of the booth and slap her hand away, drag Geno back, but he does neither and settles for glaring, instead, his grip tightening around his beer.





	no one else for you

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a "sid's 400th goal" fic and then jealousy happened? and then conversations were happening, too? point is, it became more than a "400 goals" fic. and also i wanted to write jealous!sid

When he told Doc “finally” was the only thing that’d been going through his mind after he’d scored his 400th, he hadn’t been lying. He’s been trying for _so long_ to get a fucking goal, and he isn’t one to care about milestones like this — he measures success by things like number of cups, not number of points — but he hadn’t scored a goal for ten fucking games, and finally scoring one had been such a relief.

He’d be lying if he said he’d forgotten it was his 400th, though. Mainly because he hadn’t been allowed to forget. The mounting pressure to score the “big four double-o” had started getting to him, just a bit. People always talked about his game, but the talk always increased in volume when he was near a milestone and, to be frank, it was fucking annoying. 400 wasn’t any more special than 399 or 401.

He seems to be in the minority in his views, though, because the moment he steps into the locker room, loud cheering breaks out. He smiles, shaking his head a little at the “Speech! Speech! Speech!” that’s broken out – courtesy of Olli, it seems.

When the chant peters out, Geno says, tongue poking the inside of his cheek because he knows exactly how Sid feels about milestones like these: “Yes. Speech, Sid. 400 goals. Can’t just ignore.”

Sid tries to glare at him, but he’s too pleased for it to work. “Okay, here’s your speech: I couldn’t have gotten here without every single one of you, so good job and keep up the good work.”

“Stop being modest, asshole,” someone says — Phil, it sounds like. When Sid glances at him, he’s looking back all wide-eyed and innocent, which solidifies Sid’s suspicions.

“We’re celebrating the captain’s 400th goal tonight, boys!” Dumo says, and everyone chimes in with raucous agreement.

Muzz stands up, then, and everyone quiets. He holds the helmet up in his hand.

“Keep it!” someone yells, and a few echo the call. Sid is one of them, though he’s quieter than the others because he thinks he knows where this is going.

“So, uh, I think we all know who this’s going to,” he says, looking straight at Sid, and Sid wants to refuse it — Muzz’s been doing so good, playing so well, especially considering how hard it is for him right now, with the dad’s weekend — but that isn’t how it works, so he accepts the helmet with a smile when Muzz hands it to him.

“I think we all know Muzz really deserves this,” Sid says, holding it up, “but, uh, thanks.”

“Stop being modest,” someone repeats, and it isn’t Phil this time. It sounds like Reaves, a little, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it were. Sid shoots an unimpressed look across the room.

The media comes in before he can start in on a lecture — he isn’t being _modest_ , he’s being _right_ — so he sits down to answer their questions instead. By the time he’s done with everything, most of the others have left.

Geno’s still waiting for him, though. So’s his dad. He affixes his hat on his head, walks out of the locker room, and his dad meets him halfway in a hug. He clings to Sid, and Sid pretends he can’t hear the slight sniffling as he pulls back and smiles at his dad.

“Finally got that 400th, eh?”

“Yeah,” Sid says, laughing. “Guess I did.” His smile turns softer. “Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you and mom, though.”

“She’s been texting me to make sure I let you know how proud we both are of you,” his dad says, patting his shoulder. “But I told her you already know.”

Sid’s smile gets wider. “I do,” he says, pulling his dad back in for a hug. “I was gonna call her, but I’m sure it’s a little too late, now. Tomorrow, though, I will, for sure.”

His dad nods. “Of course. She knows. God, Sid, we’re — I know I already said it, but we’re so proud of you.” He shakes his head. “Ah, I’m sure you’re sick of hearing your old man talk about this. Go celebrate with your team.”

“Hey,” Sid says, waiting until his dad looks at him. “I’m never sick of hearing you talk.”

His dad clears his throat. “I know, son. I know.” He pulls Sid in for a hug once more before releasing him. He jerks his head to the side, where Geno’s been pretending he hasn’t been eavesdropping. “Go be with your, uh, _friend_.”

“ _Dad_ ,” he says, but it doesn’t hold any meaningful reproach and his dad’s grin confirms that. Sid sighs. “You’re as bad as mom.”

“No, I’m not.”

And, considering the cooing she’d done over Geno the last time they’d met — even though she’s known Geno for _years_ — and the horrible jokes she’d made, it’s true. Sid had almost regretted telling them about their relationship. _Almost_. “Okay. Fine. You’re not. But you’re getting close.”

“As long as I’m not her, I’ll take it,” his dad says, and his smiles widens at Sid’s look. “Okay, go be young and youthful. I’m gonna go brag to the other dads about my son’s accomplishments.”

Sid laughs. “Yeah, fine.”

His dad turns to leave but stops, staring at Sid then looking away before looking back. He quickly pulls Sid in. “Love you, Sid,” he says, and just as quick, he releases him and walks down the hallway before Sid can respond.

He’s still staring at his dad’s receding back when Geno pulls him in with an arm around his waist, tucking Sid in against his side. “Ready to go?” he says, and Sid drops his head back against his solid warmth.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Geno squeezes him a little before letting go. “Play so well,” he says.

Sid turns to him, smiling. “You, too. Third star, huh?”

Geno shakes his head. “Don’t know why.”

“Because you’re you.”

Geno’s mouth twitches but he suppresses the smile from breaking out. “Don’t think people deciding _you_ , Sid. ‘Because you’re you’ isn’t good reason.”

Sid shrugs. “Seems good enough for me.” Geno reels him in again and Sid laughs, going easily.

“So nice,” Geno says against his ear.

Sid frees himself, loathsome to do so. “So _right_ ,” he says. He walks forward, tugging Geno. “C’mon, let’s go to the hotel.”

When Sid says that, Geno ends up tugging him forward. “And sleep.”

“We’re going out in a few hours.”

“So sleep most important.”

“You always think sleep’s the most important, oh my god.”

Geno stops, turning toward him, pouting. “So tired. Get third star. Work _hard_ , Sid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sid grumbles, pretending Geno couldn’t get him to do anything if he looked at him like that. “Let’s go sleep. After food.

Geno beams. “Yes. Food, then sleep.”

Sid laughs a little. He isn’t sure at what, but being around Geno just — makes him want to, sometimes.

***

Reaves picks the bar for the night. Sid shows up before Geno — which is a surprise to no one, at all, ever — down at the lobby. He’s the first one to arrive, so he pulls out his phone, fiddling around with it. He’s not really doing anything, but it’s better to pretend he is than just stand around staring at others. He pulls up the NHL app and goes through it, even though he’s already seen everything for the day.

Jake shows up next and Sid nods at him. The guys slowly start trickling in one by one. Geno’s the last one — how, Sid doesn’t know because last he saw, Geno’d been about five minutes away from being done — to join them, and he does with a smile on his face. He’d stopped apologizing a while back, and at this point, it’s just an accepted fact. The Flyers suck, Bettman doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, and Geno is going to be late.

“Let’s go,” Geno says, the first one to stride through and out.

Sid’s about to roll his eyes before he remembers he’s setting an example, so he goes with an unimpressed expression instead. What he _really_ wants to do is go back up to his room, order something from room service, curl up next to Geno, and watch some not-shitty-no-matter-what-Geno-and-the-world-say TV, but that isn’t really an option.

Everyone’s excited he’s gotten his 400th goal, and he doesn’t want to be a buzzkill, so going to a bar it is.

Geno and him share a taxi, and Olli joins them in the back. Geno keeps giving him heated looks that are affecting Sid more than they should, and he’s trying his best not to react — Olli is _right there_ , in between them — but Geno’s making it hard. And the asshole _knows_ it.

Geno’s shirt’s probably a size too small and his chain is glinting around his neck; his lips are chapped and stretched into a subtle smirk; his gaze settles on Sid for stretches of time – long enough to make Sid twitch, make him want to wipe his palm on his jeans – and then darts away just before Sid turns his head. And it’s _really_ working for Sid.

They exit at the bar — a cross between a dive and hipster which, for some reason, makes perfect sense — and Sid jerks Geno back, gesturing at Olli to go ahead.

“God, get a room,” Olli says under his breath, and Sid’s definitely gonna make him pay for that later.

“Stop it,” he says lowly to Geno.

Geno’s looking at him, beguiling. “Stop what, Sid?”

“You know what. Stop.”

Geno shrugs out of his grip, eyebrows raised. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Sid narrows his eyes. “You really wanna do this? Here? Now?”

Geno opens his mouth but then shuts it, smirking instead. “Don’t know what you talking about, Sid.” He tries pressing the back of his hand to Sid’s forehead, but Sid dodges out of his way. “You sick? Should I worry?”

Sid gathers himself and juts his chin out slightly. “Yeah, maybe you should.” He starts walking toward the entrance, not bothering to look behind because he can feel Geno following him. Apparently, he’s going to spend the night trying to drive Geno insane which, really, isn’t a horrible way to celebrate a milestone in his career.

***

He sets out to drive Geno insane, but it ends up being the opposite, and not really in a good way.

The night starts off great. Sid knows when to lean into Geno, when to smile; how to talk, how to drink; what to say, what to do. He’s spent a long time — probably much longer than he should have — cataloging what turns Geno on, and it isn’t hard to pull up that knowledge and act on it.

He’s feeling smug, because Geno started off the night smirking and has currently taken to frowning at him periodically. By his calculations, it should take a maximum of thirty minutes before Geno decides to take him back to the hotel, probably through some shitty excuse that Sid will enthusiastically back because he’s been working on Geno, but Geno’s been working on him, too; Geno’s just slightly more impatient than he is.

His calculations are thrown out the window when Geno goes to get another round of drinks and stays, and stays, and stays. At the beginning, Sid had taken to occasionally checking on his progress — it’s a busy night, surprisingly, considering it’s a Sunday — but after about ten minutes, Sid’s taken to subtly glaring in his general direction.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” Olli asks, sitting beside him.

Okay, so maybe he’s not being as subtle as he wants.

Because it isn’t just that Geno’s taking long. It’s the fact that about five seconds after he’d gotten up and made his way to the bartender, he’d been accosted by a woman. She's attractive — no, gorgeous. Exactly the type of woman Geno usually goes for. Blonde, confident, tall, with legs that go on forever — legs that Sid wishes she'd use to walk away forever.

They've been talking for ages, and she's been getting bolder as time goes on. She places a hand on Geno's forearm, smiling, and Geno throws his head back, laughing, replying with something in kind. Sid wants to bolt out of the booth and slap her hand away, drag Geno back, but he does neither and settles for glaring, instead, his grip tightening around his beer.

"The green-eyed monster, apparently," Tanger says around his beer, smirking a little.

Sid turns his glare toward him. “I’m not jealous.”

Tanger raises his eyebrows, shrugging as he takes another sip. "If you say so."

"I'm _not_." They both have incredulous expressions on their faces. "Fuck both of you."

Olli raises his hands, palms out. "Okay, sorry. You're not jealous. At all. Totally normal. This is absolutely how you behave all the time."

Sid huffs and takes a sip. "Whatever," he mumbles around the rim, eyes still on Geno and whoever the fuck. She probably has a dumb name like Karen. Or Elizabeth. Or — something else dumb.

He isn't worried that Geno's gonna go into the bathroom and fuck her against a stall or anything. This is just who Geno is. While Sid smiles politely and engages in small talk until the other person gets bored and finally leaves, Geno jokes around and laughs and flirts. Sid loves that about him, really, he does, just. Not when it's aimed at other gorgeous people who obviously want to fuck him.

Tanger's humming a song under his breath, and Sid doesn't bother trying to figure out which one — he probably doesn't know it, anyway.

"I'm humming _Jealous_ , by the way," Tanger says when he catches his breath. "If you were wondering. That's what that was. Because — well. You know."

"I wasn't wondering, thanks," Sid says, rounding on him. "And no, I don't know. You wanna explain?"

"Whoa there, Othello. Calm down." Tanger peers at him. "God, you really are jealous. I mean, I was just joking, but."

Geno's still flirting — talking, whatever, same thing. How long does it fucking take to get drinks? Why is he still dawdling?

She presses closer, playing with her hair, and Geno smiles down at her, a lot like how he smiles at _Sid_ , and Sid sets his glass down with a _thunk_. He stands. "I'm gonna go get some air."

Tanger and Olli blink at him. Hell, most of the table is staring, and he can't blame them. He bullies his way out of the booth, heading toward the door – Olli probably gets up after him, because he hears someone say, “Oh, shit, he’s had a couple drinks and he’s standing. Make sure he doesn’t pass out on top of you” – and he finally gets out and shoves his hands in his pockets.

It's cool outside, but not enough for him to regret forgetting his coat inside. He breathes into his cupped hands to warm them up a bit before putting them back in his pocket, ignores the guy smoking a little to the side, and then starts walking. He doesn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him, not here, so he doesn't pay attention to where he's going or the people around him, just lets himself think.

If you would've asked him before today if he ever got jealous, he would've laughed in your face and then apologized for doing so. The the idea of jealousy is absurd. Sid doesn't get jealous. Competitive, sure; sulky, maybe; but _jealous_? Especially romantically? It doesn't happen.

Except apparently it does, because there’s no other way to explain away the possessive, irrational, completely unjustified anger he’s feeling.

Sid isn’t an insecure guy. He’s never had any reason to be. He knows he’s the best where it counts, and the rest doesn’t matter. But something about the scene he just witnessed — Geno, smiling, and a gorgeous woman, flirting — makes incredibly insecure thoughts whirl through his mind. About how much easier it would be for Geno, to date a woman. About how much the woman looked like Oksana. About what had been running through Geno’s mind as he’d smiled at her.

Geno and him have only recently gotten together, and before, well. Sid had always felt a sense of _disquiet_ , witnessing Geno pick up men and women at bars, making out with others, but he'd feel guilty about it and it was easy enough to shove it aside.

Jealousy isn’t something he’s used to feeling. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt anything even _close_ to it; he’s never felt it in relation to his own girlfriends, either.

He hates it. He hates how it makes him feel, hates how it makes him think, hates how he can’t just get rid of it. He has nothing to feel jealous about. He knows Geno loves him, knows Geno would never cheat on him or leave him for a random person he’d met at the bar, knows he’s being irrational.

He still seethes at the image of the woman flirting with Geno.

He stops walking and takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. He’s being ridiculous. He can’t get this worked up every time someone looks at Geno with an appreciative gaze, because then he’d want to bite everyone’s head off. He needs to fucking get himself under control.

He turns on his heel and starts the trek back to the bar. He’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine. He’ll get over it.

***

When he gets back to the bar, Geno’s standing next to the door, leaning against the brick wall, Sid’s coat draped over his forearm, and phone in his hands.

Sid pauses, unsure what to say. Geno looks up at him, and Sid means to say something neutral, maybe something along the lines of, ‘Hey, wanna go back to the hotel?’ but what comes out is: “So I see you’re done flirting with random blonde women.” He clicks his mouth shut as soon as the words are out, cheeks warming, horrified at what he’d just said because _what the fuck_.

Geno stares at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m guessing you’re ready to go back to the hotel?” But Geno doesn’t let it go. He’s still staring at Sid, and Sid grits his teeth, stopping himself from saying anything else really fucking stupid.

Geno’s expression shifts from confusion to shock. “You’re… _jealous_?”

Hearing the words said aloud, especially from Geno, makes it sound so much worse. “I’m not.” He steps closer, trying to pry his coat from Geno’s arm, avoiding eye contact. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Geno isn’t budging. “Fuck. You _are_.” He sounds almost _amused._

“I’m _not_ ,” Sid snaps, glaring at him before he drops his gaze again, his face even warmer. He’s still trying to tug the coat out of Geno’s arms.

“No, wait,” Geno says. He tries tipping Sid’s face up, but Sid isn’t ready to look at him, not yet, so he shrugs out of his grip. Geno finally let’s go of the coat and Sid grabs it, turning around.

“You want me to flag a taxi? Or you got an Uber?” he says, back turned on Geno. He feels Geno come up behind him, centimeters away, but he doesn’t lean back, not like he usually would.

“Call Uber.” And now Geno sounds irritated, which makes shame radiate through Sid, which pisses him off even further.

“Okay,” he says, and he sounds defensive even to his own ears.

“Okay,” Geno repeats.

They don’t have to wait too long before the Uber pulls up. Sid gets in first, followed by Geno, and relief flows through him when he realizes the driver has no idea who they are.

The driver doesn’t try to make any conversation as she drives them back to their hotel, which is great — Sid really isn’t in the mood — but also shitty, because Geno isn’t looking at him and Sid isn’t looking at _him_. Sid stares at the buildings and lights of St. Louis instead of at the back of Geno’s head, his hands clasped between his legs, jaw tight. He _knows_ he’s wrong, but that doesn’t mean he wants to admit it, not when it means admitting what a fucking idiot he’s being. Not when he _knows_ he’s being an idiot.

When the driver pulls up at the hotel, Sid thanks her before getting out. Geno hadn’t bothered waiting for him and has instead strode into the lobby, and Sid pauses, telling himself he can’t be upset at Geno for that, not after the way he had acted, not the way he still _is_ acting. It doesn’t really help.

He nods at the receptionist before heading toward the elevator, slowing down when he sees Geno’s still waiting for him. Glaring at him. He kind of wishes Geno’d gone back to his room, because him waiting at the elevators means he wants to _talk_ , and that’s kind of the last thing Sid wants to do right now.

“Your room,” Geno says before Sid has any time to suggest they talk tomorrow, or the day after, and they both wait for the elevator to arrive in silence.

Sid is tempted — _god_ , is he tempted — to tell him to fuck off, but not only would that be unfair to Geno, it’d also be even more of an asshole thing to do, and Sid’s already done a few too many asshole things today for there to be room left for another. So instead, he sneaks glances at Geno out of the corner of his eye, lips pressing together when he sees how blank Geno’s face is — which looks unnatural, almost, because Geno’s always expressing something or the other.

The elevator ride up is filled with tension, but not the kind of tension it’s _usually_ filled with — this is angry, almost resentful; usually, the tension comes from the fact they can’t really help keep their hands off each other after a game like today’s.

The moment Sid shuts the door behind him, Geno rounds on him, arms crossed. “What the fuck, Sid?”

Sid doesn’t say anything, throwing his coat onto the bed. He still doesn’t know what to say because there really _isn’t_ anything to say except _I’m sorry_. The fact they’ve already talked about this, the fact Sid’s already talked about Geno being possessive and how that _isn’t_ okay, makes it that much harder to admit how wrong he is, that much harder to get the words out.

“What, just ignore?” Geno says, getting into his face.

“No,” Sid says, holding him back with a hand on his chest. The glare he throws is instinctive at this point, and when he realizeswhat he’s doing, he drops it and his hand, walking around Geno and sitting down onto the foot of the bed. “No, I’m not gonna just. Ignore it,” he says softly, staring down between his legs, at his hands.

He can almost hear the anger drain from Geno’s body. He comes closer and knocks a knee against Sid’s. “Then what? What happen?”

Sid breathes out. “I’m…” He runs his hands over his face before lying back onto the bed, his feet still flat on the floor. At least this way, he only has to stare at the ceiling and not Geno’s face as he admits: “I think. I think I, uh. Might be a little, y’know. Jealous.” He mumbles the last word out as fast as he can, and the shame makes his skin tighten, makes the fight-or-flight response course through his body again, and between fight or flight, Sid almost always chooses fight.

“Yes.” Geno tries to keep his voice patient, non-confrontational, but he can’t keep all of the irritation out and Sid bristles, itching to fight to escape feeling the way he is. Before he can get out a defensive response, Geno continues: “Why? You’re — not jealous.”

And isn’t that the fucking million dollar question? “I don’t know.”

Geno huffs. “Don’t _know_? What — “

“I don’t fucking know, Geno.” He sits upright, seeking out Geno, and almost immediately wants to look away but doesn’t, forces himself to maintain eye contact as he says, voice neutral, “I don’t know why. I wish I did. I know it’s stupid.” His throat works, the next words lodged inside of it. “I’m. I’m sorry.”

Geno’s still staring at him, stone-faced. Which is fair, especially because of the way Sid had reacted to his mildly possessive, protective behavior — he’d always been protective, but it had gotten worse after they’d gotten together and Sid had…not been particularly dignified about his reaction.

Sid isn’t repeating his apology, though, so he stares back, wondering which one of them will break first.

Geno does. He runs a hand through his hair as he scowls and says something in Russian, punctuating the statement with an exasperated, “ _Sid_.” Sid wants to ask what he’s said — Geno _knows_ Sid hates it when he says shit in Russian about him — but thinks that can probably wait for now.

Geno comes to stand right in front of Sid, so that he has to crane his neck all the way back to look at his face. He places a hand on Sid’s cheek, says, “Is stupid to be jealous.”

Sid shuts his eyes, leaning into Geno’s hand. The relief he feels at Geno’s touch is a shock; he hadn’t even known he’d needed it. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” The words are a lot easier to say this time.

Geno’s hand falls away, then. “Think I’m fuck someone else?”

Sid straightens, eyes wide as he pleads with Geno to understand. “No, never. No. I don’t — I _know_ you would never.”

“Then what?” he asks softly.

Sid drops his head forward, chin to his chest. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He shivers as Geno’s hand drops to the nape of his neck, his thumb stroking a line down the middle of it.

“Okay. Is okay. We figure out later.” He tangles his hand in Sid’s hair and tugs back; Sid goes easily, staring up at him as he asks: “Try not to do again? Trust me?”

“I do, of course I trust you,” he says immediately.

He tightens his grip for a second, disapproving. “Not what I ask, Sid.”

Sid swallows. “Yeah. I’ll try not to do it again.”

Geno brings his hand from the back of Sid’s head to the front, swiping his thumb across Sid’s cheek. He stares for a bit, eyes searching Sid’s face. He nods. “Okay.”

Sid doesn’t realized how tense he’d been until all tension slumps out of him at the word. Geno unhands him and he wants to protest, but he stops himself because what would he be protesting? Not being held? That isn’t something he can just _ask_ for.

Geno steps back. He pushes at Sid’s chest gently, saying, “Go back, to beginning of bed,” as he gestures at the head of the bed.

Sid goes, but not without throwing a questioning glance at him. Geno turns around, as if searching for something, and then makes a triumphant noise when he locates the TV remote. He turns the TV on and throws the remote toward Sid; it lands next to him.

“Choose channel,” he says, and Sid’s eyebrows climb his forehead. The right to choose which channel to watch is always a hard-fought battle between them, but he isn’t one to protest things going his way. He’s about to pick a channel before he spots his and Geno’s coats in a pile on the corner of the bed and he moves to get up and hang them up, but Geno tsks at him.

“No,” he says. “Stay. I hang coats.” At the way Sid stares at him, he makes a shoo-ing gesture. “Go back.”

“Okay,” Sid says after a pause, brow furrowed but unwilling to ask why. Geno hanging his things up is a sign of growth — that’s a good, if unexpected, thing. What he doesn’t understand is: “Aren’t you angry with me?”

Geno seems to be mulling it over, hanging up both coats. Sid waits for his answer, fidgeting.

“No,” he says, standing at the foot of the bed. He crosses his arms and tips his head to the side and back. “Not angry. Little bit annoy. Because you — “ He sighs, shaking his head. “Not know word. Like — you do thing you get angry at me for? And I’m not even be _jealous_.”

“Hypocrite,” Sid says. “That’s the word you’re looking for.” He hopes he looks as sorry as he feels.

“Yes, hypocrite,” Geno says, nodding. “And we have to talk because this — not fair. If you jealous _and_ get angry at me for being posessive.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Geno shakes his head. “Know you sorry. Not gonna stop you from doing same next time if you not know _why_ you’re do.”

Sid bites his lip.

“Like you say to me, don’t do it, so I think, okay, _why_ I do it? Why it get worse? And when I know, help me control better. But I’m not angry with you, because this — not something we can do today. So only little annoyed, but is fine.”

When Geno doesn’t elaborate, Sid says: “Can I…do something to help you?”

“Yes,” Geno says, having disappeared into the bathroom. He pokes his head out, raising his eyebrows. “Pick channel.”

And Sid still hates that Geno’s annoyed, but also knows he’s right. So he picks a show — one both he and Geno will enjoy — and settles down, flipping the pillows up, turning the sheets down, and has just glanced down and remembered he’s still wearing what he wore out when a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt land next to him. He looks at Geno, who’s rooting around for his own clothes, and says, “Thanks.”

He’s about to change when there’s a knock at the door. Sid freezes. Who the fuck is knocking at his door right now? He makes to answer but Geno tsks at him even louder than before, glaring. “Stop trying to get up. Sit.”

Geno opens the door, and he talks to the person on the other side quietly. Sid keeps trying to see around him without getting up, but he doesn’t need to wait for long before Geno turns around, and he’s holding an enormous slice of chocolate cheesecake.

If Sid was confused before, it’s got nothing on how confused he is _now_. “Is that…for _me_?”

“No. Get for myself, ordered to your room, because _I’m_ obsess with cheesecake and chocolate.”

Usually, Sid would respond to the sarcasm, but he’s got too many questions. “But why?”

Geno smiles. “400 goals, Sid. Have to celebrate.”

“But when did you even _order_ it?”

Geno hands it to him, getting onto the bed, and Sid takes it automatically. “Before we come here. When you take forever to come inside.”

Sid stares at Geno. “Wait. When you were still really angry at me?”

Geno’s busy making himself comfortable next to Sid, so he doesn’t even look over at him as he says, “Yeah.”

Sid’s silent. He doesn’t know how to deal with that. Geno’s just so –

When Geno settles next to him, he leans up and kisses him. “Thank you,” he says when he pulls away, and then he kisses him again. “You’re the fucking best.”

Geno blinks before smirking. “I know.”

***

Sid’s leaning into Geno, eyes heavy-lidded and plate of cheesecake finished, less than an hour in. He rests his head on Geno’s chest and Geno brings his arm up, wraps it around Sid, hugs him tighter.

“Ugh, _no_ ,” Sid says at the list the couple’s making on TV about what their dream house is like. Who the fuck wants a concrete backyard?

Sid feels Geno laugh. “Maybe you should get own show.”

Sid shifts, rubbing the back of his head into Geno’s chest a little. “I should. I’d be so much better, because I’d tell the couples to go fuck themselves.”

This time, he hears Geno laugh, loud and clear. “Don’t think you have show for long.”

“It’d be worth it,” Sid says, glaring as the couple lists off another dumb fucking thing. He waves a hand in the general direction of the TV. “Look at how stupid they’re being!”

Geno rubs a hand up and down his arm, humming. “Yes. Most stupid.”

Sid nods, mollified. Geno continues slowly moving his hand up and down for about ten minutes before moving up to Sid’s neck, wrapping a hand around the nape and gently moving his thumb back and forth, back and forth against it. It makes Sid shiver, just a bit, and press closer to Geno.

Geno stops, then, suddenly. “Twelve years, Sid.”

“Hmm?”

“Twelve years since I come here,” Geno says softly.

Sid stops paying attention to the TV and instead tilts his head back, trying to look at Geno before deciding it’s not gonna work and shifting away so he can see his face. Geno’s looking back at him, completely open, everything playing over his face, and Sid still doesn’t know what to do with so much unguarded emotion all at once.

“Yeah,” he says, unsure what else to say. “It’s — “ He pauses, remembering who Geno had been when he had arrived. Nervous, anxious, determined, unstoppable. Remembers who _he_ had been — young, needing to prove something no one had asked him to prove, still growing into himself. Compares both of them to who they are _now_ — hockey players with pretty much guaranteed spots in the hall of fame, multiple cups under their belt, having relied on each other through so much. And then he gets it — gets the way Geno’s looking at him. “Yeah. It has,” he says just as softly, stopping himself from reaching out and touching Geno before telling himself it’s stupid to think that way and doing it, anyway.

Geno turns his palm up so they can lace their fingers, swipes his thumb across the back of Sid’s hand, dark eyes steady on his face.

Sid opens his mouth and then hesitates. But he _shouldn’t_ , is the thing, because he has no reason to do so, so he says what he wants to: “I…don’t know what I’d do without you.” He’s told Geno before, but it still feels weird to say it aloud, in such a private moment. But Geno needs to hear it. He’s so fucking important, a pillar of the Pens, and Sid doesn’t know where they’d be if Geno had decided he didn’t want to be here anymore — if he had decided he was done with being in Sid’s shadow, playing under Sid’s leadership, because Geno would undoubtedly get more praise, more money somewhere else. He doesn’t know where _he_ would be, without Geno.

Geno smiles shyly, glancing away. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sid says, brow furrowing, because Geno _has_ to know, right? “You know that. Right?”

“Yes.”

Sid turns so he’s properly facing Geno. Geno doesn’t sound as sure as he should. “I mean, I’ve said it before.”

Geno hesitates, and Sid sees him rethink whether to say what he wants to or not.

“What?”

Geno looks at Sid before abruptly looking down, squeezing Sid’s hand. “You say don’t know what _team_ would do. Not…not _you_.” He sighs, mouth twisting down, and he looks up as he says, “Is stupid, I know.”

“No, no it’s not,” Sid says, and he lets go of Geno’s hand so he can get his knees under him, look Geno in the eyes properly. He can’t fuck this up again. “I’m sorry — “

“Don’t need — “

“No, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you didn’t know. You’re — “ He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. It’s _uncomfortable_ , saying this stuff aloud, but Geno says stuff like this to him all the time and the least he can do is make sure Geno knows what he is to Sid. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. And I’m not talking about Geno-the-hockey-player, I’m talking about _you_. If, uh. If I had to choose, right now, between you and hockey, I’d…probably choose you.” He hadn’t realized the veracity of that statement until a few moments ago, but he _means_ it. He only has a few more years of hockey, a decade and a little bit if he’s lucky. But Geno…he hopes to have Geno for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t be an easy decison, and he doesn’t know how dignified he’d be about it, but he’s pretty sure he’d choose Geno.

Sid’s heart is racing, but he tells himself to stick it out, tells himself to not look away like he wants to. “So you’re incredibly important to me, and, uh. Whenever I think about the future, you’re there with me. No matter how many years I think ahead. So.” He drops his gaze, because he really can’t continue _looking_ at Geno after having said all that, and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to end his speech. He goes with, “So, yeah. Y’know.”

“ _Sid_ ,” Geno says, and Sid isn’t sure what emotion’s in his voice but he knows there’s a lot of it. He pulls Sid in and kisses him, and Sid prefers this, prefers expressing his love through actions rather than through words. So he does, and he keeps the kiss chaste because he wants it to feel like a promise.

Geno pulls back. “Lots of emotional words, Sid. You okay?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, but it’s hard to take offense when Geno’s grinning like he is. “I just bared my _soul_ , and you’re making fun of me?”

Geno pulls him in again, laughing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says against Sid mouth, and then kisses him again.

Sid raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know if I forgive you.”

“No?” He tugs, so Sid has to brace himself against Geno’s shoulder to make sure he doesn’t fall into him. He drags a hand down Sid’s side. “How I make up to you?”

Sid feels himself grow warm. “I think I could come up with a couple of things.”

Geno’s grip tightens on Sid’s hips. “Think I can guess.”

Sid flashes him a smile. “I’m a pretty predictable guy, yeah.”

Geno pushes him until Sid gets the message and moves so he’s lying on his back, Geno on top of him. Geno leans down, settles himself over Sid more comfortably, and Sid sighs into the kiss, bringing up his hands to swipe them up Geno’s back, run a hand through the hair at the back of his head, slip under his shirt to feel him.

Unlike pretty much everything between them, kissing doesn’t have an undercurrent of competition. Sid _likes_ the way Geno takes control, feels no need to fight back or try to come out on top; he’s more than happy to just respond, let Geno set the pace. It had taken some time for Sid to realize that, had taken Geno quietly asking if Sid would try it, just once. Sid’s really glad he did.

Geno pulls back, eyes half-lidded, and Sid blinks up at him, mouth open; licks his bottom lip.

“ _Fuck_ , Sid.”

“Sorry, no lube. Try again tomorrow.” Sid stays straight-faced for about five seconds before he giggles at his own joke and Geno’s long-suffering expression.

“Why you so bad at jokes?” Geno says, and Sid can see him trying hard to stay unamused.

“Don’t lie. You think I’m hilarious.” Geno goes to kiss him again, but Sid presses back, smiling. “Nuh-uh, you don’t get to try and kiss me to hide your smile. I can see it.”

Geno breaks, burying his smile against the skin of Sid’s neck. “What you do to me?” He places a kiss. “Used to have good sense of humor.”

“You _still_ do, because I’m hilarious.”

Geno sighs, and Sid shivers at the sensation. “Why I’m date guy with so little self-awareness?”

“ ‘Cause I’m not aware enough to know I definitely shouldn’t date you.”

Geno rears back. “So rude. Always say such mean things. Say I’m bad at faceoffs, I’m never backcheck — ”

“That was _forever_ ago, oh my god.”

“ — always tell me, use more chapstick, now say you shouldn’t date?” Geno shakes his head, exaggerated frown on his face. “Mean, Sid.”

“Okay, I’m _sorry_. How can I make it up to you?”

The frown vanishes in a second, a smirk taking its place. “Gonna let you guess.”

Sid makes a thoughtful sound. “Well, I guess I could let you pick where we eat for the next — “

Geno cuts him off with a kiss before he can finish, saying, “ _Hilarious_ ,” before continuing. After a bit, he tugs at Sid’s shirt, moving back. “Take off.”

Sid sits up, quickly strips. He accidentally clips Geno in the side with his arm while doing it. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he says, but the way he’s laughing ruins it.

Geno rubs where he got hit, staring at Sid, betrayal on his face, hair sticking up because of how he’d taken off his shirt. “First, hurt me with words; now hurt me with _hands_? What next, Sid? Gonna crosscheck?”

Sid rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Should I get helmet? Bring gear?”

“Can’t forget a facemask,” he says as sarcastically as he can.

Geno makes an outraged noise. “Now _mock_ me? I’m worry about _safety_ because you’re try to kill me.”

Sid sighs, then smirks a little. “What, you want me to kiss it better?”

Geno shoves him and Sid goes flat onto his back, laughing. “I’m kiss _you_ better,” he grumbles before delivering on his threat, grinding down, their cocks sliding together, skin on skin, and Sid’s breath hitches, allowing Geno to take advantage of that and lick into his mouth.

Sid arches up against him, pulling him closer, running his hands up and down, feeling whatever he can reach. Geno breaks the kiss, kissing down Sid’s neck instead, and Sid bites his lip, tilts his head, hand latching onto Geno’s hair.

Geno stops, then, and lists to the side, off Sid and onto his side. Sid makes a noise of protest. “Where are you going?”

He finds out very quickly when Geno wraps a hand around his cock. Sid pushes into his touch, eyes shut. Geno grips him loosely, tugs a couple times, then removes his hand and Sid repeats his noise of protest.

His hand’s back after a moment, though, slicker, and Sid hums, lolling his head to the side, opening his eyes. He looks down, sees Geno’s half-hard, looks back up and says, “Wanna get you hard.”

Geno’s watching him, eyes dark, chain hanging off his neck. He leans down to kiss Sid, moves back only a fraction as he says, “Wait. Seeing you will make me.”

Sid swallows, gut tightening at Geno’s words, Geno’s actions. He tries to drag a hand down, reach for Geno, but Geno stops jerking him off and catches his wrist before he can, pins it above his head.

“Said _wait_ , Sid,” he says, brushing his lips against the corner of Sid’s lips.

Sid turns his head so he can capture Geno’s mouth, moves back far enough to say, “Okay.”

“Good.” He lets go of Sid’s wrist and drags his hand down Sid’s chest, fingertips pressing into his skin, making Sid shiver, and takes Sid in hand. He buries his other hand in Sid’s hair, tugging a little, and Sid’s mouth falls open as he starts jerking him off.

Geno kisses him again and Sid holds onto that as an anchor, bringing up his own hand to run it through Geno’s hair, pull him down. He shifts, hips jerking up subtly in step with the movement of Geno’s hand, and he wants to reach down and jerk Geno off, maybe offer to blow him, but Geno’s decided that isn’t what he wants, so he doesn’t, instead focusing on the slick slide of their tongues, the way Geno nips at his bottom lip, the way he thumbs at Sid’s head on the upstroke, spreading the precum around.

It isn’t long before Sid’s breath is stuttering, his face, chest flushed. He tries to break off and turn his head to the side, bring up an arm to cover his face, but Geno doesn’t let him, tips his face back and captures his lips again. He lets go of Sid abruptly and Sid thrusts up, trying to get him back, and he says, “ _Geno_ ,” against his mouth.

“Shh, wait,” Geno says, and he shifts so he’s on top of Sid again, reaching down and taking both their cocks in his hand.

Sid shuts his eyes tightly, breathing out, “ _Shit._ ” Geno’s hand starts moving, and Sid pulls him back down, needing the contact. The kiss is uncoordinated, sloppy, almost, since both of them are rather preoccuppied, but it doesn’t make it any less good. Geno hums, and Sid echos him with a soft groan, hand flexing where he’s got a hold on the back of Geno’s neck.

Geno tilts his face into Sid’s neck, saying something low and fast in Russian. He sucks at the junction between Sid’s jaw and his ear, and Sid arches up against him, hands digging into his back, mouth open.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he says, pressing back against the pillow. “Geno, Geno I’m gonna — “

He feels more than hears Geno groan, his hand stilling for a split second before speeding up. Sid digs his teeth into his bottom lip, feeling Geno’s warm breath on his neck, and he shuts his eyes, small repetitive _uh_ s escaping his mouth as he feels himself getting closer and closer, teetering on the edge.

“Geno — “ His gasp’s strangled as he feels himself start to come, pressing up, throat bared, and Geno works him through it until it’s too much and he’s pressing away. When he comes back to himself he hears Geno talking, voice strained, and he tilts his head to the side so he can place a kiss under his ear, saying, “C’mon, G, please.”

He bites out, “Sid,” and it’s only a few seconds before Sid feels him coming. He kisses Geno through it, even though Geno mainly pants against his mouth, moaning under his breath, and then Geno collapses on top of him, nuzzling his neck. Sid slumps into the mattress, playing lazily with Geno’s hair as they catch their breath. Geno looks up at him after a bit, smiling, hair tousled and eyes crinkled at the corner, and Sid’s hit with so much fondness, affection, he has to hold his breath for a second before letting it out slowly.

He runs his fingertips over Geno’s cheek, his lips. “You’re amazing.”

Geno laughs softly. “Best?”

Sid grins. “Yeah. The best.”

**Author's Note:**

> you know what the most erotic part about this entire fic is??? communication and healthy relationships like damn that really gets me going. tell me more about how you acknowledge and validate my feelings but still rightfully consider my actions inappropriate ;) 
> 
> i was gonna let this sit for a bit before editing it buuuuuuuut....i wanna work on other stuff so i posted it instead. lemme know what y'all thought, and if you wanna leave constructive criticism, that'd be awesome!! anything from a ":)" to a 5 paragraph essay is appreciated, tbh. 
> 
> anyway, hope y'all liked it!! i'm also on [tumblr](https://itsahockeyplay.tumblr.com/).


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